Love and War
by sunsetdelilah
Summary: Bela screws the boys over again, and Dean decides to take matters in his own hands. It's funny how the line between rage and lust can blur. Inspired by Bela: "When this is over, we should really have angry sex." Dean/Bela ficlet in two parts.
1. Chapter 1

**Love and War**

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"Son of a _bitch_!" Dean's holler echoes through the motel room and causes Sam to poke his head around the bathroom door, his hair standing on end, still wet from a shower.

"…Bela?" he asks.

"_Fucking_ Bela," snarls Dean as he snaps his phone shut and swipes furiously at the air in an aimless punch. "Screwed us again. Thought we'd covered all our bases this time."

"What happened?"

"Not now, Sam, I don't even want to think about it." Dean sinks wearily onto the motel bed and leans forward, elbows on knees, to massage his temples. Moments later he jumps up restlessly and starts pacing. "Damn it, fine. She blew our fed cover so now we don't have an in with the authorities, and I'm sure she'll have the freaking amulet in a few hours and be out of town by tomorrow."

Sam frowns, disappears back into the bathroom for a minute to throw on some clothes. When he reappears, he sits and studies Dean, who's still pacing furiously.

"So, what now?" he finally asks.

"I'm gonna waste the bitch, that's what." Dean has calmed himself a bit, but Sam can see he's still raging. "I promised her the last time, and I didn't do it, but this is just crossing the damn line."

"Dean!" Sam protests immediately. He wilts a little under the deadly glare Dean shoots him and adjusts his tone to sound less appalled. "Look, man, I know she's been a real bitch, but killing her? It's not like she's a demon, or even a spirit. She's human, dude. You really want to go killing someone in cold blood like this?"

Dean scowls. "I don't want to hear a voice of _reason_, Sammy, I want to hear, 'okay, big brother, want some back-up?'"

Sam sighs and rolls his eyes. "You know you don't want to _kill_ her, Dean."

"Alright. Okay. So I won't kill her. I'll just give her a piece of my mind." Dean shoots an aggrieved look at Sam, who's wearing his skeptical-and-disapproving face. "Come on, Sam! She's pulled the wool over our eyes too many times now, and we just _take_ it, again and again!"

It's clear Sam isn't backing his brother up this time, though, because he scoots back on the bed and reaches for the stack of lore books he's got piled there. "Okay, Dean, you go give her a piece of your mind then, but you're on your own. I'm staying here to do some more research on the case and actually get some sleep for once, so we can start fresh tomorrow."

There's silence for a beat, and Sam eventually looks up from his chosen book with a raised eyebrow to watch as Dean gathers up his car keys and phone, then tucks a pistol in the back of his jeans.

"Just in case," Dean snaps pre-emptively, effectively cutting off Sam's protest before it can escape. "Relax, Sammy. I'll give her hell, find out what she did with the amulet, and hopefully scare her off bad enough that we never hear from her stuck-up English ass ever again. You focus on finding us something useful in those dusty books."

Sam wrinkles his nose distastefully and returns his gaze to the book. "Be careful, Dean. And call me if you need anything, alright?"

"Got it." Then Dean's out the door, and Sam hears the rumble of the Impala's engine as it starts up.

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It takes him a while, but Dean's a skilled tracker and soon he's standing outside the door to room 342 in downtown Tulsa's ritziest hotel. For a second he's tempted to just kick the door in and barrel in, guns blazing – figuratively – but he settles for the subtler option of jimmying the lock and sliding in the door whisper-quiet.

The room is dim, lit only by the glow of bedside lamps, but there's light shining through the cracks in the closed bathroom door. Dean can hear the hiss of running water, and he smiles.

_No way I'm falling for that, lady,_ he thinks, and he's almost insulted at the possibility that Bela could assume he'd be that gullible. Ignoring the bathroom for now, Dean focuses his attention on the rest of the room – it's at least double the size of any of his and Sam's usual motel haunts and with a separate living and sleeping area, there are several places Bela could be lying in wait.

So Dean slinks along the wall. He's got his pistol drawn and held in a ready to fire position, knowing the only way to get Bela's attention is to back her into a corner so tight she can't squirm her way out of it.

He's halfway completed a circuit of the room, though, before he starts feeling distinctly uneasy. Bela's a slippery bitch, but she's sure as hell not invisible, and there's nowhere else for her to hide. _Unless that wasn't really a trap...?_ Dean wrinkles his brow in confusion and is about to turn back to the bathroom when he hears a sharp inhale followed by a rush of air, and barely manages to duck in time.

Dean's barely got time to register that he actually _had_ caught Bela by surprise – if her white bathrobe and hair perched neatly atop her head, wrapped in a towel, is anything to go by – before he's forced to duck again, because now it's the second time Bela's swiped a curved dagger at his throat. He dances back a few steps and raises his gun, setting Bela's forehead square in his sights. As she freezes, he narrows his eyes and can actually _see_ the steam still rolling off her skin. _Well I'll be damned_, he thinks, _she actually was in the freakin' shower._

"Dean –"

"Drop it!" Dean interjects, his voice harsh enough that Bela straightens, sighs, and tosses the blade to her right, where it skitters beneath the coffee table. Dean shifts a bit as he widens his stance and brings his left arm up to support the other in keeping his gun rigidly level. "You've really done it this time, honey."

Bela smirks and crosses her arms. "You just can't handle being outsmarted by a woman, can you?" she asks, and Dean scowls both at her absurdly pretentious accent and the insult they carry.

"Bela, I don't think you understand just how much shit you've gotten yourself into this time," Dean grinds out. "You've got Sam to thank for the fact that your brains are still intact inside that scheming head of yours."

"I knew you wouldn't _kill_ me, Dean, with or without Sam." Bela smiles at him, winningly, and actually takes a step forward. "You are a man after all, and I know your type."

Dean shakes his head determinedly. "You don't know the first thing about me." He's thrown off guard, though, by her cavalier manner, and finds himself wishing she was a big, hulking man – it'd be so much easier to just bash her face in that way. The entire room even smells like her damn shampoo, and it smells _good_.

"Alright, fine," Bela concedes, still looking calm and completely unconcerned. "So you're not planning on killing me. What are you doing here then? And shouldn't you maybe check that I'm, ah, unarmed?" One perfectly groomed eyebrow raises slightly. "Imagine the embarrassment if I caught you off guard twice in one day."

_Deep breaths_, Dean intones silently. _Stay calm. You're not killing her._ "Bela, you're wearing a damned bathrobe, and I surprised you coming out of the shower. I'm willing to bet that one little pigsticker's the only weapon you had time for."

For some reason, Bela moves closer again, and Dean's gaze dips down to catch a glimpse of bright red pedicured toes before catching himself. As he looks back up, he sees Bela's hands reaching for the knotted terrycloth belt cinching her waist.

"Uh, Bela?" he waves the gun at her, indicating her hands which have now finished with the belt and have slid up to grasp the lapels of her robe.

"Let me help you out, Dean," she murmurs. She looks up at him through hooded eyes and purses her lips as she pulls the robe open and eases it off her shoulders. It drops to the floor with a muffled noise, and Dean has to remind himself to swallow as he suddenly finds himself aiming the barrel of his gun at an unfairly stunning naked woman.


	2. Chapter 2

**Love and War, Part II**

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"Bela, what the hell…" he trails off as Bela raises her hands in a gesture of surrender and does a slow, graceful turn. Dean gets an eyeful of tanned skin, and wonders how she manages to embody both toned and curvy in such a dangerously feminine way. He can't deny he's turned on as he's forced to shift his stance again in order to ease the sudden tightness he's feeling in his jeans.

"Just putting you at ease, I hope." Bela is watching him appraisingly and seems pleased with what she sees. "You do remember what I said about us having angry sex, yeah?"

Dean swallows, and manages a bit of a smirk. "I said don't objectify me."

"I don't see you complaining," Bela shoots back, "and besides, of the two of us, I think I have rather more cause to be feeling objectified right now, hmm?" Dean inclines his head sideways in acquiescence. He stiffens slightly but doesn't move as Bela inches her way still closer and, ever mindful of the weapon trained on her, extends a hand and snags one of Dean's belt loops in her finger to tug him towards her.

"Come here, you silly man," her voice is low and husky. Dean's having a seriously hard time fighting the combined assaults of shampoo-smell; desirous, naked woman; and the tantalizing silk bedsheets he sees just over Bela's shoulder.

Dean's resolve crumbles as Bela flashes him a particularly tempting smile. _Well, Sam'll be pleased that at least I'm not killing her_, he reasons distractedly.

"You are completely infuriating, you know that?" is what he asks aloud.

Dean flicks the safety on his gun and tosses it behind him, where it lands on a couch well out of Bela's reach. Then he surges forward, cupping Bela's head roughly in one hand and snaking the other firmly around her waist, and pulls her to him in a harsh kiss.

Her skin's ridiculously soft and she tastes faintly of strawberries, but Dean can't ignore the feeling that what he's doing is _wrong_, that he came here to rip this woman a new one, that he hates her slimy guts –

– but somehow that just makes this feel even better. Dean channels his frustration into the kiss, biting Bela's lip and tugging so hard she draws in a sharp breath and digs her nails into his side warningly. He grins dangerously and, still holding her tight, reaches to pull at the towel holding her hair in place above her head. Discarding it, he buries his hand in her hair and pulls her head back so far she's forced to arch her back. Her breasts rub against the fabric of Dean's t-shirt but he's focused on staring her down, satisfied to see a hint of discomfort and worry flicker across her eyes.

"Worried, sweetheart?" Dean's suddenly feeling a lot better about this situation. "You did say _angry_ sex, right? And I haven't suddenly forgotten how you screwed us today."

Bela doesn't bother answering. Instead she reaches up and pulls Dean's leather jacket off, throwing it to the side before continuing to hastily tug at his shirt. Dean's forced to release his grip on her momentarily to throw his arms up and allow her to pull the shirt all the way off.

Dean lets his head drop back at the feel of Bela's soft lips on his pecs, and shivers a little when she starts nibbling a trail across his chest with sharp, tiny teeth. At the same time, he can feel her hands working his belt, unbuckling it and unzipping his pants, her hands impeccably sure. Soon he's kicking his boots off and stepping out of his pants, wearing nothing but a pair of black briefs, and he reaches for Bela again to manhandle her so she's standing before the lavish king-size bed. Then he shoves her backwards, a touch harder than necessary, so she lands sprawled and a bit disoriented with a surprised gasp.

For a moment Dean pauses to take her in. His eyes trace up creamy thighs to linger on a deliciously bare pussy that's peeking through the narrow part of her legs, before arcing up over curvy hips and drinking in her gorgeous breasts.

Dean decides he wants to taste her so he climbs onto the bed, straddling Bela, who's lying back in a surprisingly submissive pose with her arms over her head and an eager grin that Dean matches hungrily.

"You know, something tells me you were planning this all along," Dean observes as he grips both Bela's wrists in one of his and holds her hands in a viselike grip. His right hand roams freely over her hips and belly, coming up to cup one breast, and he dips his head to suck on one pert nipple.

"Well I think it's only appropriate to let you do the screwing for once, hey?" Bela's snark is weakened a bit by the sudden arching of her back and hitch of breath as Dean bites down on her exposed nipple. He growls slightly and moves up to lick along the cleft of her collarbone before catching her mouth again in a rough kiss. In this position all he has to do is angle his hips downwards a bit and his hard cock is rubbing between Bela's legs, separated only by the fabric of his briefs.

Dean's about to release Bela and work at getting the damn briefs off so he's finally naked when suddenly he feels a knee jerk up into his solar plexus with shocking force. He's busy gasping out a breath as Bela writhes beneath him and manages to hook a leg behind his knee, slam her palm into his shoulder, and roll him off her.

"What are you -" Dean trails off as Bela is all of a sudden on top of him, pressing the sharp edge of a knife against his carotid artery, and curses under his breath. "Under the pillow," he states flatly. It's not a question, and Bela just smiles.

"You're so predictable, Dean." Bela shifts and Dean stiffens beneath her. She's straddling him, seemingly unconcerned at the way their bare skin is brushing together. Dean has his arms spread and flat against the mattress, while his head is pressing back against the sheets because Bela is gripping the blade so tight against him that he can feel it nicking his skin.

"You dirty bitch." He quirks a small smile and jokes weakly, "If I knew you were this kinky I woulda brought my handcuffs."

"Cute," says Bela, "but not exactly what I had in mind. Here's what's going to happen: you're going to get up – _carefully; _the knife isn't going anywhere, and you know my reflexes are just as sharp as yours – and you're going to march straight out the door of my room and out of this hotel. No clothes, no gun, nothing. Just _get. Out_."

"That's asking a lot, princess." Dean makes no movement, but his eyes are locked on Bela's appraisingly and he can see that despite the knife, she is treading rocky ground and mostly just bluffing to see if he'll go along with her unspoken threat. "Now, if you knew I wasn't going to kill you, why should I believe that _you're_ really a threat to _me_?"

He cringes as Bela's answer is to angle the blade and slide it down, to the hollow at the base of his throat and along his chest just below the collarbone, tracing a light cut the entire way. It stings like a bitch, and Dean can feel a trickle of blood welling up in its wake. At the same time, he's intensely aware that Bela is no longer threatening a major artery, and decides to spring at his chance.

With a grunt of exertion, Dean bucks upward to throw Bela off-balance and knocks the knife out of her hand. It clatters to the floor, unnoticed because Bela is lashing out at Dean with fists and feet but he's done with her crap and soon has her solidly pinned to the bed again.

"Right back where we began, sweetcheeks. Nice try, though." And Dean has to admit he's a little impressed that she managed to flip and surprise him like that, but now the ball is squarely back in his court and when he's focused and using his full strength, Bela's really no match for him hand-to-hand.

Bela squirms and lets out a soft breath when Dean reaches down with one firm hand to part her legs and slide two fingers inside her. His thumb finds her clit and traces lazy circles while his other hand is wrapped around her slender throat. Bela's tongue flits out and wets her parted lips and Dean smirks down at her as he feels her hips rocking up unconsciously into his hand. He decides to up the ante and leans down to kiss her, chuckling when she growls softly but kisses back after only a moment's hesitation.

"Mmm, Bela," Dean clucks his tongue in faked disapproval, "looks like someone is enjoying themselves here."

Bela sighs and raises one knee slightly so that her leg rubs against Dean's stiff cock. "I'm certainly not the only one. Does it always take you so long to get to business or are you just particularly inept today?"

A brief look of irritation crosses Dean's face at her attitude, but the accompanying throb between his legs quickly leads him to decide he likes it. Releasing his hold on her momentarily – he's fairly certain now that she's given up on trying to ambush him with hidden weapons – Dean wriggles out of his briefs, leaving them both completely nude.

He's left momentarily frozen as Bela decides to make a move. She rakes her nails down his chest and gestures for him to stay as he is, kneeling on the bed, so that when she crawls towards him on hands and knees her mouth is level with his hips.

Dean grins. "Oh, you are just a –"

"A saucy minx, yeah?" Bela's eyes flash playfully and she wriggles her hips enticingly before reaching out with one slender hand to grip Dean tight and guide him to her moist, parted lips.

A guttural sound escapes Dean as Bela swallows him slowly, tauntingly, and he can't help it if one of his hands snake out and buries itself in her still-damp hair. His eyes flutter shut as her lips and tongue set a casual rhythm and her hand moves to cup his balls.

With his eyes shut Dean's other senses pop into overdrive. The fresh flowery scent of Bela's shampoo flirts with his nostrils as he grips her hair unyieldingly, not that she needs any motivation because her swirling tongue is sending electric sparks up his spine. The silk sheets of the bed dip beneath his knees and he feels his thighs clench in response to Bela picking up the pace, laving his cock with demanding, insistent movements.

"God, you know how to suck a dick, don't you," Dean growls harshly. Bela shows no sign of slowing down but he's getting impatient and it's not in his nature to be so passive in bed, especially when his intention in coming here was to give Bela what's coming to her. So he tugs on her hair and throws her back, flipping her on her stomach as he does so. "Gonna fuck you into the mattress, honey, the way you deserve it."

Bela utters a small moan at the barely withheld violence lacing his words and actually moves to accommodate Dean, adjusting herself on hands and knees and arching her back so her ass is exposed. That's all the invitation Dean needs, and immediately he's running his hands over her skin, claiming, digging his nails in, slapping her ass and watching with satisfaction as a red handprint mars her smooth tan.

He scoots forward on his knees and wraps his hands around Bela's waist, his fingers pressing tight on her hipbones. Pressing the head of his cock between her wet, parted lips, he lets his eyes flutter shut as he pulls Bela back onto him.

She cries out in surprise at the same time as Dean moans, "_God_, Bela, you –"

"Shut up and fuck me, Winchester," she gasps back, arching her back to angle up into Dean's thrusts, which come faster and harder as he sets up a breathtaking rhythm.

Dean doesn't need to be asked twice. He stops trying to say anything and limits himself to a guttural moan because damn, Bela feels so _good_ and tight, she's hot and wet and rutting back against him with as much enthusiasm as he's putting in, and God if that isn't one of the hottest things he's seen.

At the same time it's harsh, and dirty, because Dean knows he shouldn't be doing this – this is possibly the farthest thing from why he came here tonight – but he's given up caring and is putting all his frustration and anger at Bela into each thrust. It's not loving or sensual; he knows she'll be bruised the next day. With each thrust his balls slap wetly against her skin and the sounds she's making are vulgar in their need.

When he feels her begin to clench down on his cock, sending violent shivers up his spine, he rakes down her back with his short nails, hard enough to leave angry red lines in their wake. Bela throws her head back and keens loudly, gasping, "Dean – _Dean_ – I'm coming, God…"

He grunts in response and Bela comes with a shout, throwing her head back and falling to her elbows with a whoosh of breath. She rocks back as Dean continues his thrusts for a few more seconds, before moaning softly and coming to a shuddering stop buried deep inside her.

She gives him a scant few moments before crawling forward and rolling delicately onto her back so she can look up at Dean with a slight smile.

"Well?" Bela queries as her right hand trails over her breasts and she begins to play lazily with herself.

Dean blinks once, slowly, and backs off to the edge of the bed, averting his eyes from her and quickly schooling his post-sex-bliss face into a more stolid and uncompromising one. He leaves her lying like that, arm flung over her head and hair deliciously tousled, but he barely throws her a glance as he tugs his pants on and throws his shirt over his shoulder. Slipping his socks and boots back on, he turns.

"Well nothing. We're done, Bela. You mess with my brother and I again and the outcome will be a hell of a lot more painful than this."

Bela's voice drifts after him in amusement as heads for the door. "I should hope so, Dean. Wouldn't want you feeling objectified or anything, now would we?"

Her laugh is the last thing Dean hears as he slams the door shut behind him and doesn't look back. He clenches his jaw against the nagging feeling in his gut that he just made a big, big mistake, before shaking his head and stalking out of the hotel towards the Impala.

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**Fin**


End file.
